


Bedtime Stories

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Family, Fluff, Gen, Harry Potter References, M/M, Oneshot, Parentlock, Short & Sweet, sherlock reads a bedtime story, they read harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reads Hamish a bit of Harry Potter to try and get him to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking of Ben C being a dad and then of him reading to his baby and this is what happened. Kudos and comment at your leisure, I love it!

“Time for bed, Hame.”  
“Wrong.” John was momentarily startled at the similarity between his two year old child and his thirty-two year old child. John just raised his eyebrows at the blond-haired child. Dark blue eyes stared resolutely back.  
“You sure, mate?”  
“Yup.” The toddler was sat on the floor in the middle of the room surrounded by various blocks. He turned his eyes back to the floor, picking up two blocks and banging them together before putting them firmly on the carpet. Sherlock was in the kitchen working diligently on an experiment for a case. Unless the situation was truly dire, he was not to be disturbed.   
Hamish determinedly picked up another block and looked at it thoughtfully. The blocks were all different elements of the periodic table and were coloured by class of element. Reaching for another block of the same colour, he laid them down side-by-side.   
“Hamish,” an edge of warning had crept into John’s voice.  
“Nope.” He banged a block on the floor for emphasis. John huffed in annoyance and sat cross-legged across from his son.  
“Why not?” he asked, trying in vain to reason with his toddler.  
“Daddy,” the small voice said petulantly. Both boys shot a look at the kitchen where Daddy was working.   
“Ah. Well we know sometimes Daddy has very important work and doesn’t really want to be disturbed, right?”  
“Nope,” Hamish said stubbornly.  
“Great,” John soldiered on. “So that means tonight, Papa’s going to put you to bed. And then some other night, Papa will have to work late at the surgery and Daddy will put you to bed. Yeah?”  
Hamish did not deign to respond, but went back to playing with his blocks.   
“Okay Hamish. No more. Time to go to sleep.” John stood up resolutely and reached under his son’s armpits to hoist him in the air.   
“No, no, no!” Hamish screamed, back arching stiff as a board and arms flailing. “Daddy, Daddy!” Tears started sliding down Hamish’s round face. John opted for putting Hamish back on the floor instead of having him tumble out of his grasp.  
“Okay, Hamish, we’ll go see Daddy, alright? And then you have to go to bed.” Hamish snuffled quietly but did not protest when John picked him up again. John perched him on his hip and went into the kitchen, Hamish burrowing into his shoulder.   
John leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen and watched his partner for a minute. Sherlock was bent intently over his microscope, curls falling forward in an untamable tangle. He turned a knob on the side of the microscope and shifted the slide before pulling his eye away from the eyepiece and jotting note down on the scrap of paper beside him. Glancing up, he caught sight of John and Hamish.  
“Is Hamish alright?” He asked distractedly, eyes darting around his family, searching for clues.  
“Yeah, no Hamish is fine, he just didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted you.” Sherlock’s eyes warmed.   
“I have to let this experiment sit for twenty minutes. I could come tuck him in?”  
“Please.” There was an ill-hidden note of pleading in his voice.  
“Alright, I’ll be right there.” John gave Sherlock a look that communicated the severity of the situation if Sherlock got distracted. With a wave of his hand, Sherlock mumbled “Promise.”  
John turned and walked up the stairs with Hamish in his arms. “Daddy?”  
“Daddy will be right up.” John rubbed his hand soothingly in circles on Hamish’s back.   
“Okay.” Hamish relaxed in his grasp.  
When they got up to Hamish’s room, John settled him in his little bed, slipping him under the covers and tucking him in.   
“Bee or bear tonight?” John asked, holding a stuffed animal in each hand and offering them to Hamish.  
“Mmmm… Bee,” He decided after some thought. John leaned over and placed the stuffed bee in Hamish’s outstretched hands. Hamish’s eyes shifted to behind John. “Daddy!”  
“Yes, Hamish. Being a little difficult tonight I see.”  
“Don’t know where he gets that from,” John murmured affectionately. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. He went to the bookshelf beside the door.  
“We had started the first Harry Potter, yes?”  
“Harry!” Hamish cried, clapping his hands.  
“Yes, alright.” He pulled the thin book off of the shelf and perched on the edge of Hamish’s bed, slender fingers picking out the bookmark where it lay nestled between two pages. John lounged against the wall at the head of Hamish’s bed, reading over Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled softly throughout the room.  
“’You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of poitionmaking’ he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without the effort. ‘As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.’”   
“Dundah head?” Hamish sleepily mumbled.  
“Yes, people who are less intelligent. Like Anderson, for example.”  
“Okay.” Hamish snuggled deeper under the sheets and closed his eyes. “Then what?”   
Sherlock chuckled and ran one hand over Hamish’s head while he hefted the book with the other. “Let’s see now… ‘Potter!’ said Snape suddenly. ‘What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’  
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione’s hand had shot into the air.  
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Harry.  
Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.  
‘Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything.’” John’s hand slid onto the back of Sherlock’s neck.  
“He’s sleeping,” John whispered, rubbing his thumb against Sherlock’s nape.  
“And just at my favourite part,” Sherlock whispered mournfully. John chuckled. “That was quick of him.”  
“Yes, well he was putting up quite a fuss. He probably tired himself out,” John commented drily as Sherlock quickly tucked the bookmark back into the book and the book back onto the shelf.   
“You know when you’re not home he asks for you too, sometimes?” Sherlock rested his hand on John’s lower back as they made their way down the stairs.  
“I know, I know. I’m not worried about that, not really. I just don’t know why sometimes he wants one of us more than the other, that’s all.”  
“It’s completely normal. There’s nothing to worry about.” Sherlock wrapped his arms completely around John’s waist, laying a soft kiss on his forehead. John let himself revel for a moment in the warmth and comfort of Sherlock’s embrace.  
“Don’t you have an experiment you need to be working on?” he asked, pulling away.  
“Yes, of course,” Sherlock said, disentangling his arms from around John. “You could… if you wanted… I wouldn’t mind some help, if you’re amenable?”  
John chuckled.  
“I would love to.” He took Sherlock’s hand and followed him into the kitchen, the knowledge that his son was safely tucked in bed a calming presence in the back of his mind.


End file.
